The spirit within the rod

[fishnbanjo]

That night in June of 65 will stay in my memory forever for it was the beginning of what was to come. I was asleep in the bedroom I had shared with my grandfather. I awakened with a start and the return of a smell that had not been there since gramps had been hospitalized six weeks earlier. It was the smell of one of his heart medications and it seemed odd that since all the medications had been disposed of and mom sterilized the room that it would return now. I suppose my mom had it tough dealing with gramps being ill and the cleaning of the room may have been her symbolic of his getting a clean start when he came home. Well the return of the smell was 2:00 a.m. by the clock and my gut sensed I wasn't alone in the room and gramps was there and the only way that could be true was that he had died and his spirit was there since the house had been his and he loved it there. At 2:15 a.m. the telephone rang and I heard my mom answer it. The night nurse was telling her what I already knew, gramps had died at 2:00. When she peeked in the bedroom I said I already knew and she asked how, and I responded I just did. Spirits, they are the life force of energy that all living things have while they are alive and what gets left behind when the container housing it dies. For this reason I only buy sporting equipment that talks to me.

Now before you go off and think, this nut hears voices, I don't. What I do get is a spiritual feeling as if there is a sense or force and a familiarity with the shotgun or fly rod I am looking at and I know how it will perform. This is very difficult to explain; I am talking about equipment previously owned and loved and I get a sense of spirit as if being guided by a past owner. The spirit force is quite complex and it is an homogenized influence which gives an understanding far beyond it being just a shotgun or fly rod.

Let me give you an example. I had been hunting birds for a few years and had a lot to learn still when it came to the art of wing shooting. I had a Weatherby Orion O/U that made a fool out of me every chance it got wing or clay it held no bias. I sold it and purchased a Beretta 687 EL Golden Onyx O/y and this gun could shoot quite well on clays. I was so happy that when I finally hit the bird field I had confidence in the gun and myself. No matter how hard I tried I missed every offering that day and as good as that gun was it offered no guidance for it didn't have spirit. I traded that fine O/U for a Parker DH from 1903 as the moment I shouldered it I felt overpowered with senses. We went out to shoot clays and I ran 24 of 25 on my first outing and my friends asked what the choking was and I told them IC/Mod and they shook their heads and said no way I should have shot that gun that well, it must be haunted. Exactly, the gun had spirit! I could sense where it would go and it would sometimes point and I'd pull the trigger and the target would materialize in a puff of orange. I needed to get this gun into some birds and could hardly wait. The first day afield found me and a hunting companion in an alder thicket so dense I hardly knew where my next step would be without losing John's Yellow Lab, Holly. The feeling to stop was so overpowering if froze and instantly a chill rode my spine and as quickly as I had frozen a woodcock launched into flight and when I drew the gun bead, barrel and woodcock were perfectly aligned and a portrait etched in my mind forever. Sure all my practice on clays helped but I couldn't shake the feeling there was someone watching my shoulder and as soon as the safety was on I looked back over my shoulder to reassure myself that no one was there.

I started fly fishing in 1987. I was going to Scotland that year for work and the idea of fly fishing in that country had me flying. I was assigned to work for approximately 3 month on a submarine undergoing repairs and my wife, Eileen, was to meet me toward the end. Our plan was to travel by bus and rail through Scotland for 2 weeks and 1 week through England and Ireland and stay at B&B's and Hostels along the way. Unfortunately I contracted a neurological virus and was shipped home mid way during my job and just prior to my wife arriving. It was during my rehabilitation that I learned to cast as assisting relearning motor muscular control. Tiring easily made it difficult to cast and to become effective I practiced efficiency of motion. The rod I had chosen was a poor choice and it really limited my casting abilities to a 20 foot roll cast. Late in August on a hot afternoon I caught and landed my first fish on a fly, a 13" pickerel on a grass hopper imitation and I released it immediately. This wasn't really catch and release as it was more an ethic taught me by my dad as he would always say :if you won't eat it, don't grow it". Dad was born and raised in Italy and he and my mom came to the US so I could be born here and his thoughts included fishing as well as when we would go he would only keep what our family could consume. I was elated with my afternoons catch and returned home exhausted and loved this sport of fly fishing even if I wasn't in Scotland.

My first contact with bamboo rods came in an antique shop in Dallas Plantation, Maine and the feeling of spirit awakened as my hand went from one rod to the other. Visions of Chinese workers cutting canes that were a pale yellow color while others stacked the freshly cut culms in bundles that looked like giant hour glasses, weathered hands scrubbing culms into the sand and placing them on grass matting. I couldn't believe what I was seeing and feeling and overwhelmed by it all I left the shop thinking the trip had made me tired. I returned to the cabin we were renting but the experience and visions were haunting me and I knew I would have to return and face my feelings. Several days later I returned to the shop and the feelings were there but much more controlled. I lifted each rod one by one until one felt like an old friend and it was the one I would purchase. When I got back to our rented cabin I tried several of my reels to see which one balanced best with my new rod and once I felt I had achieved that I checked the line and noticed it a WF 6. Pulling about 30 feet of line through the rod I began a series of false casts which better as the rod told me to slow down. For the next hour I practiced and outdistanced my best ever previous efforts. A warm glow enveloped me as I broke down the rod and placed it into its bag and tube.

The turning point for what my equipment has come to mean to me was when I went to my first tackle auction. I went to the preview and the sheer amount of bamboo fly rods I saw was beyond belief. There were rods from every maker I have ever heard or read about and some I had not. The sense of spirit was everywhere, I could see old men working hand planes over bamboo strips and men and women wrapping fine silks over glowing cane shafts and smiling faces watching fine camel brushes filled with varnish making a beautiful finish. I could see rivers and streams and fish being caught, some released and other being gently placed onto moss in a wicker creel. I saw a family crying and hugging each other as a casket was being lowered into a grave and then it hit me. There for the grace of God go I, I was seeing my life, my tackle and my shot guns and I was feeling my own spirit. I left that room with a renewed feeling for when I fish my fly rods I'll never fish alone. I fish with the spirits, the spirits of the growers, the workers, and the rod maker: I fish with the rivers and streams and the fish they held and most of all I fish the spirit of the rod and its past owners. When I see the river they see it too; when I fight a fish they fight it along with me and when I release it part of its spirit is shared with us all.

If we are only here for a short while let us bring joy to this world and if some day you are looking at some piece of used equipment and you think perhaps you've seen a river or the face of an unknown man, pipe in mouth, sitting on a bank overlooking the water with a smile then perhaps it will be me for I know my spirit will be passed to these rods I act as caretaker for and maybe someday our spirits will share a fish together.